A Bad Day
by cupcakegumdrop3
Summary: ["Late Night Angel" One-Shot Series 4/4 - after LNA - *now 2 chapters!]. Damien appears when our main character needs him most. Who is the main character? Written in first person so *finger guns* you decide. Comfort & Romance on a shitty day.
1. Chapter Laughter

**Well would you look at that? I just can't stop typing. Anyway, here's an example of Damien being the one to give comfort for once in my one-shot series. Still like it better than multiple chapters in one fic but we'll see.**

I came home from school and threw my shit on the floor. My textbooks make a booming echo downstairs that probably would've disturbed my parents. If they were home. Who fucking cares.

Life is shitty today. Life is shitty every day, but this day is particularly shitty.

It was just one of those days when everything goes wrong. Like, literally everything.

First I got a letter from the last college I was waiting to hear back from. Nothing but denials. I didn't get once single acceptance to the 4 schools I applied to. My grades are good, they're great! But not as good as some others I know, one who shall remain nameless, who is already early admitted into Yale. His rich parents probably paid for it for him anyway.

On top of that, I got fired from work BECAUSE I was calling out so much to agonize over studying so much. I need to study because I would need financial aid and scholarships, but I need to work because I FUCKING NEED FINANCIAL AID AND SCHOLARSHIPS! This one seems like my fault. Everything seems like my fault. Everything is always my fault.

I'm also spiraling down again. It's a shitty day because I haven't felt this way in years and it's dangerous and I don't want to be alone. But as luck would have it, I am alone. I'm almost always alone.

I want to call on him.

I want to feel his arms around me and smell the smoke in his clothes. I want to look into his almond eyes and whisper things against his bow-shaped lips. I want to drag my tongue along his pointed ears and listen to him howl my name.

But I won't call on him.

Because I would feel like his problem.

I know I'm being hypocritical here, I was telling him recently how he's so strong to ask for my help when he needs it, and I meant every word of it. I'm the kind of person who sees everything positive in someone else, and turns it into a burden when it weighs on myself. Yeah. Hypocrite. That seems about right.

It's not like I've never called on him before, I've needed him so badly in the past and had no problem with it. It's just because I feel this way. This dangerous darkness that spreads in my soul so rapidly, I sometimes wonder if he really is no match for my demons.

But I know what he'd tell me. He'd ask me, _beg_ me, to let him help me any way he could. He's got a big heart like that. I remember when we were kids and he fucked up meeting everybody for the first time because he let his anger get the best of him. Coming from the 7th layer of hell, he didn't know any better. And when Mr. Mackey sat him down and told him that's not how to get people to love him, he changed. And he _tried_ , until everyone saw him as more of a harmless, troubled boy than anything else. He's sweet like that.

But I can't ask for him. I should, but I can't.

I spend the next hour or so "handling it" on my own, which consists of laying on my bed, legs dangling off the edge, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think or cry. I know this isn't healthy. So in a moment of strength, I say his name.

"Damien." I whisper into the darkness, thinking I could take it back if I wanted to. As much as I was on edge when I thought he'd come and break up my pity party, I was severely disappointed when he didn't show. Anger courses up through my body and rises out of my mouth. " _Fuck!_ Damien! Damien! Damien!" I scream his name three times in rapid succession, needing just to scream more than anything else.

I am, however, surprised at how relieved I am when his hellish apparition poofs itself into the corner of my room — wings flapping in inexperience as he struggles to get a handle on them… like a newborn deer trying to use it's legs. It makes me smile.

Seeing my taunting expression, Damien lets out a chuckle and defends himself with "they're still new to me!" He pouts as he tries to spin around himself like a dog chasing his tail and it makes me full on laugh. He suddenly shakes his shoulder blades and his wings retreat back inside his body, God knows where those enormous things get stashed.

"You look cute when you're working demon-puberty out for yourself."

"I know, I did it mostly for you. I've gotten quite the hang of these dumb things" In order to make his joke land, he pops his right shoulder and a wing comes protruding out. He moans with fake drama of "oh, would you look at that!" and "get back in there you!" It makes me laugh even harder and I almost forget why I called him, almost.

"You're a dork," I smile and shake my head lovingly as he expertly shoves his wing back into it's socket.

"I know," he smiles goofily and strides over to me, "I wanted to make you smile". He coos gently and brushes my face with his fingertips. "What's bothering you?.. oh! And hello" he awkwardly and goes in for a quick peck on the lips, with just a little tongue. That's one of the things I love about him: when Damien's not _on_ his game, he is so, so _off_ his game.

"How do you know I'm upset?" I challenge him first, because I don't feel like talking about me just yet.

"You forget I can see you." He taps his head in what must be referring to his brain? But really it's a monocle-type device that he lays over his forehead like a shitty-Cochella-headdress. He showed me when we first started actually dating. He says it opens his third eye. I just told him he looked really pretty in it, which was received as less of a tease and more of a genuine compliment in his naiveté — which only made me fall for him even more, the dork.

"So you knew I was upset? Why didn't you come the first time I called you!" I'm not really mad, and he knows that. I just need to yell sometimes. We all have things we need to work on.

"You said it so _quietly_ , I didn't want to risk it being like last time." He huffs breathily in my ear as he pulls me closer to him, "or maybe I would _love_ that." My face grows hot remembering what he's referring to. A late night 'insomnia cure' shall we say, that led to me moaning out his name when I wasn't actually calling him. Lucky for both of us that he showed up though, because we quickly turned that night around, and that's actually the first night he fell asleep in my bed, something he became accustomed to doing whenever I allowed him to. I chuckle sourly and push him away gently. I called him for a reason. "Hey." He nudges me softly. "What's wrong _Amica Mea?_ " He purrs into my ear. Again with the dead languages, with this boy.

I swallow the desire that bubbles in my chest every time he speaks Latin to me, and I suddenly feel silly for calling him over. But I tell him. I tell him everything and he just sits cross-legged across the bed from me, listening and nodding and offering little tidbits here and there when he can. He listens to me, and he helps me, and he doesn't try to shut me up by kissing me. I genuinely feel much better when I've finished venting, but Damien is having none of my moping until I'm smiling and laughing in his arms again. I know this cynicism isn't like me, but it's how I used to be, and while I don't like it one bit, neither does my boyfriend. Suddenly I'm scooped up in strong arms and being showered with a plethora of kisses (much like when he first told me he loves me).

" _Pulchritudo_ ," he's purring Latin to me again and there's nothing I can do to stop the curl of my toes. This is what I need right now. We've already talked it out. We've talked it out until I can't talk about it anymore, and now I just need _him_.

I wrap him in a tight embrace and pull him down on top of me. I snake my arm around his neck and slither my tongue into his parted, ruby lips. I run a hand across his clothed chest and I tug up the collar to tell him to take it off. He obliges and I meet him with another feverish kiss before he can make his way all the way back down to me. I pull him on top of me and wrap legs around his torso. I'm tousling and pulling his hair gently as our tongues do sinful things inside each other's mouths, and it's not until I bite down hard on his bottom lip than he groans and attempts to push away slightly with his left arm so he can get at my neck.

What happens instead though is as his elbow bends to hold up his weight on that side, a huge wing pops out of place and nearly knocks over all of the contents of my dresser.

"Fuck! Oh shit, sorry!" He pants as he tries to simultaneously store his wing, clean up the part of the dresser within reach, and also not let go of the arm that's hooked around my waist.

I'm already laughing at this point, there's no going back. I'm rolling around on the bed, unable to keep my cool, and laughing like a hyena at my angel's clumsiness. He's laughing with me, and in a moment we are both in hysterics and unable to stop.

When we finally finish giggling to ourselves, Damien is lying next to me, shirtless, chest heaving from laughing, and the most joy I'd ever seen on his beautiful face. And by the way he's looking at me, I'd say he's thinking similar thoughts about me.

I kiss his left cheek sweetly and rub my palm against the slight stubble peeking out on his other side. "Thank you for coming." I whisper gently. He grabs my face and caresses my temple longingly, as if he's scared this is just a dream and he'll wake up soon and I'll be gone. "You really helped me, I was feeling… pretty awful before… you always make me feel better."

Being the predictable, sensitive boy that he is, Damien's eyes started to shine with tears as he planted kiss after kiss against my forehead, temple, jawline, and collarbone — making me moan and grab onto him desperately with that last one.

"You always save me, even when I'm the one helping you." He bashfully admits as he buries his face in my neck, suckling at the soft flesh he finds there.

My breath hitches in my throat and builds up uncomfortably with desire. I swallow the tension and gasp as his tongue starts tracing it's severed tip along my neck. I moan when he bites down on my tense shoulder muscle, and relax when he works his mouth down my arm, aiming for my hand. He laces our fingers together and kisses each digit of mine. I've never seen someone so intent on worshiping the one they love. And God do I worship him right the fuck back.

"I love you" I coo to him as he finishes kissing the last knuckle on my pinky finger. Instead of doing something sweet like — I don't know — saying it back, he instead grins wolfishly and chuckles with an:

"You've always been the one to say it first."

You ass.

I roll my eyes and scoff at his dumb memory. He turns my hand over and plants a kiss into my palm. He trails all the way back up to my face, a long process that I do not mind at all. He finally kisses my lips and whispers against them, "I love you, you're my everything, and I will always do everything I can to make you understand how much _I love you._ "

Leave it to a half-demon boy to be the most romantic sap I've ever met.


	2. Heaven On Earth

**I decided to write about the time when our sensitive Hero, Damien, needed to save our narrator physically rather than emotionally. Still part of the LNA universe where the love interest is vague and therefore whichever kid you want it to be in all of South Park.**

 **BONUS POINTS for including some details from my own personal car accident (I was fine, I drive Kia). But the accident happened in a very similar way. I had to dramatize the injuries and the moments after the initial crash, and that was fun and cathartic. Analyze that, Freud.**

 **Anyway, this specific fic includes _TRIGGER WARNINGS_ 1\. for anyone who's experienced a traumatic car accident, 2. there's also mention of suicide, 3. philosophical questioning of the afterlife (if that stresses you out, sorry). **

**Disclaimer: EVERYBODY LIKES A LITTLE SCIENCE FICTION WITH THEIR RELIGION! (a.k.a. nothing is meant to offend)**

 **Once again, I love my obscure references, so there's real references to demonology, theology, and a small hint at Dante Alighieri's book The Divine Comedy:** **Inferno** **(7th layer of Hell is specifically for violence against others, yourself, or nature/art/God).**

 **I'm sorry if this offends anyone but while there is reference to Mary, what I say about her is not strictly Bible "canon", it's an open-minded human's fiction interpretation, with love.**

 **Not everything I ever write will have religious nuggets, but come on, it's Damien.**

 **Enjoy my boi!**

The last thing I remember is the squeal of rubber and the screech of metal. It all happened so fast. One minute the light turned green and the next… blackness.

I remember seeing a car speeding down the hill towards their now red light on my right side, but I remember thinking nothing of it, chuckling to myself at the embarrassingly sudden stop this asshole would have to make when they realized they needed to slow down. But they never did.

And now I was woken from my blackout by the sound of the car slamming into the asphalt and the windows shattering, frame creaking as it smushed, windshield a pretty, abstract, and crinkled mess where the passenger side door had buckled under the weight of the rest of the car. I must've gotten some air with that sick jump I guess.

Now that everything was still, I noticed I was suspended in the air, cradled by my seatbelt, but no airbags had deployed in this shitty car. Is that why my head was bleeding? I must have hit it against my driver's side window upon impact. I looked down at the passenger side door, which was now the ground to see my phone was out of reach for me. I needed to call 911. In my panicked haze I was still lucid enough to realize that it was the middle of the night, on a street with no houses, and the other car (big fucking soccer mom monster truck that it was) had just sped off. A hit and run. Were it the daytime, there would have been plenty of cars around me filled with people who had their own cell phones. Instead, I unbuckled my seatbelt.

Gravity instantly flung me downwards to the passenger side door… which was covered in shattered glass. My shoulder screamed in icy white pain as I landed on it, but I think my vocal chords won the award for "loudest wail". Being as stunned as I was I neglected to put out hands to steady myself and my head smacked, yet again, on my right side this time, against asphalt through the broken window. Now the right side of my skull also stung like a bitch and I could still feel blood dripping from the left side. As much as it would have helped me to have another person in the car to reach my phone, I'm incredibly glad I'm alone, as a potential passenger may have been seriously hurt from that sick kick flip my car attempted.

That's when it hit me. 'Another person to help me'.

"Damien, help!" I half choked, half screamed as I coughed over my shaking vocal chords. I heard the rush of fire, but didn't feel the heat, as he must not have had room to "apparate" inside my origami car.

(I made myself smile with the memory of the first time I joked that he was a wizard from Harry Potter, and he had no idea what I was referring to and decided to be insulted. It took quite a bit of convincing to get him to believe it was a compliment, not a diss, and after watching all the movies and THEN lending him all the books which he read in like a week each, he became a bigger nerd than me. We now both called it "apparating" all the time, we sorted him into Ravenclaw — because Slytherin would be OBVIOUS —, and we ceremoniously held marathon weekends every summer. The memories made me laugh a little and though I was relieved for the momentary distraction, I think I'd broken a rib or something because the motion caused a white hot pain to shoot up my side.

Wear your seatbelts properly, kids).

I was shaken from my momentary daydream by his voice calling my name. No, screaming it. He was panicking, he knew where I was, he was just hoping to get a response before he got to me.

"In here!" I wheezed and I heard him quite literally *thank god* as I heard the slap of his feet against the pavement move him faster towards the wreckage.

There were already tears but I wasn't surprised. What surprised me was the hell-born son of Satan, turn sheet white and stumble back a little like he'd had to catch himself from fainting.

"Do I look that good?" I asked with a smirk as the taste of blood reached the corners of my stretched lips.

"Your leg…" He whispered staring at me with wide eyes and pale cheeks as he fidgeted with the door handle.

"My leg— no, I landed on my shoulder—" suddenly the shock wore off, and I could feel it. I could feel it before I saw it and I didn't even want to look. At a quick glance, I saw my knee must have popped out of it's socket when I fell because it was turned slightly the wrong way. I couldn't see straight anymore, all I felt was pain. Suddenly I wasn't so calm anymore.

"FuuuUUUCK!" I started screaming and cursing in pain as it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Damien whispered curses and gave me a panicked glance before his adrenaline kicked in and he yanked the whole door off it's hinges, no sense in preserving any parts of the car anymore anyway.

That's my angel. Don't make him angry. You wouldn't like my angel when he's angry.

"Don't move me!" I remembered something about that, "You're supposed to wait for medical professionals!"

"No _fuck_ that!" He spit out angrily, "I can help heal you…" he trailed off wearily, as if he wasn't so sure, himself.

Shaking the uncertainty out of his head, Damien reached down and gently wrapped his arms around me, careful not to move my neck from it's current position, relative to the rest of my body. In doing so he neglected my limp shoulder, and I bit down hard on my lip to suppress the scream from being pulled in two directions by stupid gravity. He couldn't spread his pseudo-solid wings in here, but luckily with a good push off with his legs, the familiar motion launched him high enough in the air, where with a screeching howl of wild wind, a flurry of red and purple spiked leather blurred my hazy vision. His massive, beastly limbs pumped fiercely to keep us airborne, rushing warm air against my face. He was still taking great pains to keep me from moving my neck and back too much, holding me in his arms as stiffly as he could manage.

He lowered himself to the ground slowly and gently, so I wasn't moved too much. As his dirty and soot stained sneakers touched the ground, I traced my fingers absently across a small patch of the uncharacteristically soft and fragile skin stretched over his wing.

He lowered me to the ground in one smooth motion, kissed my forehead and whispered, "I'm gonna get help."

" _Don't leave me!_ " I hissed as tears poured out of my eyes.

"I'm not going far," he assured me.

"Where are you _going!?_ " I cried out as his warm presence left my body cold. I attempted to lift my head, when I felt a gentle push against my shoulder to keep me down.

"Shhh, shhh, baby I'll be right over there I have to get your phone." He reasoned with me.

"Where's yours?" I retorted. Luckily, Damien knew this was no time to argue so he waved me off and rolled his eyes as he sprinted to the car. In my delirious state it sounded very good to me to pick a fight with him about the importance of bringing his phone everywhere, that's why we got it for him, _remember?_ I made a mental note to fight with him when he got back and closed my eyes to let the overwhelming exhaustion wash over me. He was back within a second and fussing over me again.

"Hello? Yes we need an ambulance — hey wake up! No, don't fall asleep! — yes, um…. 9th… and… Rose St, there was a hit and run… No I'm fine I came upon the scene later… yes… out of the car but I made sure to stabilize the neck and head when we moved — I'm sorry I didn't know… head trauma? Yes, I think so, there's blood — baby don't fall asleep! Stay with me! — also there may be some limbs broken, I'm not sure… thank you… no need, thank you." Damien hung up the phone and placed a hand on either side of my face, rubbing circles with his thumbs against my bloody cheeks, not wanting to shake me awake. The soothing motion however was doing the opposite, and shock was kicking in again making me want to shut the world out and sleep.

"Stay with me, ok? Um… what did you do today? Where were you going before when you were driving?" The memory of the crash hurt my head and I winced and screwed my eyes shut tight. "Ok! Ok! Not that, um, what's your favorite flower? Hm? What's your favorite flower to look at and which is your favorite flower to smell?"

I cracked my eyes open as I thought about it and I saw him sigh a little in my peripheral vision.

"Violets to look at… Lavender to smell…" I mumbled.

"Good! Good, and what's your favorite sight to see?"

"You." I answered without having to give it much thought. He smiled painfully, the current situation making it hard to smile genuinely.

"What else? Do you prefer ocean or mountain?"

"Mountain."

"Do you prefer sunsets or sunrises?"

"Sunsets… No! The sun a few hours before it finishes setting. That's what I like…" I trailed off.

"Where is that ambulance…" I heard him mutter to himself, "What you're favorite memory?"

I raised my good hand to rest over his heart. The motion had become synonymous with healing each other's broken hearts and bad days, so it really had many meanings for each of us. So I clarified, "the first time." My demon boyfriend let out a sigh above me, remembering the traumatic day as if it were razor sharp in his mind. "why won't you heal me now?" I pleaded wit him — _everything hurts_. Damien's tears, which had dried what felt like hours ago while he was playing 'Mysterion' rescuing me from the car, had threatened to cloud his piercing gaze again.

"I can't," he admitted wiping more blood away from my face with his thumbs as he tried his best to comfort me. "It doesn't work that way, I — I can only reach your soul. If I tried to heal your body I'd be afraid… of hurting you… I'm afraid… I couldn't do it… I'm afraid I'd make it worse," he admitted timidly.

"That's ok," I patted my hand against his chest, "the ambulance will be here soon."

"Yes they will." He agreed gravely.

Noticing he'd discarded his signature leather jacket somewhere in the road in the process of needing to access his wings, I suddenly found myself worried over the half-human boy in a ripped-backed t-shirt above me. "Aren't you cold?" I petted the navy blue fabric of a faded band t-shirt he'd never heard of, but that I'd given to him one day as a loan. He'd joked that I'd never get it back. That was a year ago. I don't think I'm getting it back.

His response was an astonished laugh, "You're worried about _me?_ I'm ok, trust me, my demon half is keeping me warm." He cracked a crooked smile at me.

"You're keeping me warm too."

"Good."

"You're always saving me."

He chuckled lightheartedly, "Yeah, what would you do without me?"

"Kill myself, probably." I answered without much thought.

"What?!" What. "Why?"

"Well, I'd go to Hell, right?"

Damien froze and looked at me with a blank expression and widened eyes as he slightly pulled away from me to look at me clearer. Did I say something wrong? The two of us looked at each other with little communication as each became wrapped up in our own heads. Distant sirens started to drown out my thoughts, and flashing lights illuminated his face as he stood up to address the medics.

I heard him relay every bit of information that he knew as they loaded me on to the stretcher and begin to look me over. I screamed when they neglected to cradle my seemingly alright arm as it smacked limply against the stretcher and intense pain radiated from my shoulder.

" _Careful!_ " I heard Damien plead, as if they don't know how to do their jobs. ' _It's ok baby, it's their jobs'_ I thought to myself but didn't have the energy to say out loud. Maybe I'd remember to say it when this was all over _._ Meh, probably not.

I heard him ask if he could come with me and they told him no. "Please?" He begged as they loaded me into the vehicle. They told him he could follow them to the hospital.

"Do you have a car?"

"No…" he admitted.

"Can you get an Uber? A Lyft?"

"You should have brought your phone," I mused from under the oxygen mask around my mouth and nose. His eyes sparkled as his face smoothed out into a tiny little grin at my smart-ass remark.

"I can get a ride." He promised. He'd actually probably beat them there in a flurry of fire and smoke. They gave him the name of the hospital and the address and started to close the doors. He waved goodbye, said that he loved me, and promised that everything was going to be ok.

I could still see him through the back windows after the doors closed. He was clutching is discarded leather jacket so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, and he subconsciously began sucking and licking my blood off of his thumbs as a nervous comfort while he waited for the ambulance to start leaving. What a strange little devilish-habit-thing to do. I smiled to myself watching him fidget as the engine turned over. I watched him wait a few seconds until the ambulance was a few feet away before shooting up into the sky again and flying away towards the direction of the hospital.

—- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - A FEW HOURS LATER - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

—

I woke up from knee surgery a few hours after that. Everything was hazy, and I was _sure_ I must be on some kind of quality drugs right now because I felt fantastic. I felt around my body with my good hand and noticed a cast around my leg, a sling around my arm, and bandages around my head.

As I let my eyes drift open and blinked the blurriness away, I surveyed my new surroundings. There's some beeping monitors, a white cotton blanket over my bed, a sleeping demon-boy in the chair to my right and… flowers. Violets and Lavender. Practically all over my room.

My chest swelled with emotion and I couldn't suppress the smile on my face. I took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet scent of my little garden. Tears sprung to my eyes as I laughed at the pure _humanity_ of the gesture. I wanted to tell him he was a perfect little demon-bean, but in my overwhelmed state I just chuckled out, " _fuck_ you, i's'stupid…"

The sound must have woken him because he stirred in his chair and leaped up immediately to my side once he realized I was awake.

"Good morning!" I smiled dopily as I stared up at him from my medicated haven.

"Feel good?" He chuckled and raised a hand to run through my hair. Not wanting to disturb the bandage, he settled for brushing the back of his hand against cheek. Remembering the blood that used to cake it, I stuck my tongue out in an attempt to check if it was still there. "what are you doing?" The voice of an angel asked as his musical chuckle filled the room.

 _"_ Did you lick it off?" I asked hazily.

"What?" He giggled.

"Blood…" I barely remember what I was asking while I was saying it.

"You saw that, huh?" He arched an eyebrow at my funny expression as I attempted to clean my face, one hand now rubbing at both cheeks to check for unsightly blood.

"Yeah. I don't mind though. You can eat my blood anytime." I sighed and looked up at him lovingly. He burst out laughing. Ugh. Mean.

"I'm not a vampire, I just don't mind a little blood if I have to lick my hands clean." He winked at me as he leaned is weight against the bed like the cool guy he wishes he was. He seems cool now though, why do I usually think he's a dork?

"Mhm, goodnight," I lolled as I decided I was too tired to stay awake. Damien snorted at the sudden change of mood. Y'dork.

—

I woke up about 45 mins later with some of my pain medication wearing off. Good, I wanted to be lucid for this next conversation with Damien anyway.

I looked over at him where he was reading a DC comic book — one of literally hundreds that he hoards in different issues and editions in his bedroom in Hell. He looked at me upside-down from his lounging position in his chair and smiled at me when he saw that I was awake. I don't know why but I waved at him shyly as he swung his legs around and strolled over to me. He didn't comment on my awkward wave and let it go.

He knelt down next to my bed and propped his chin lazily against one of his palms as he gently rested his elbows in the empty space next to me.

"Hey." He drawled with a smile.

"Hey." I smiled back. "Care to fill me in?" I reached over despite my sore ribs and brushed his thick hair out of his eyes.

"Well," he explained dramatically, making a big show of his storytelling "first, the accident — I'm sure you remember— was pretty bad but you made it worse for yourself when you decided to skydive 6 ft onto your right shoulder to get to your phone. And _then_ you remembered to call me.

"I looked into my amulet and saw you were in trouble and came as fast as I could," he looked down at the bed, no doubt remembering the sight. "By the time the ambulance got to you and patched you up you'd dislocated the shoulder, bruised your ribs — you're lucky it's not broken with the way you were wearing your seatbelt — you dislocated your right knee and tore some ligament or something, also when you fell on it at a funny angle," he was started to be less animated the more he said "and you hit your head on both sides, luckily only a mild concussion but they had to seriously monitor you when you went into surgery for your knee.

"That part really scared me." He admitted so quietly I felt like I was eavesdropping on a private conversation.

"Hey." I nudged him "I'm ok." I assured him warmly. He smiled at me sadly. Why is he always doing that?

"I know." He fiddled with the blanket, tracing the flower pattern with his fingers. "There's something else."

"What?"

"Do you remember what we said to each other while we were waiting for the ambulance?"

"I remember violets and lavender," I smiled at him when he beamed sheepishly, "and mountains and sunsets, and…" I reached over to lay a hand on his chest, ignoring the protest of my rib muscles.

He sighed and grabbed my hand placing it down over my own chest so I can stop twisting and ordered me gently to 'stop moving so much' before he grabbing my closer hand instead and squeezing it tightly.

"And we talked about how you always save me"

"And what you'd do if I was gone"

"And I said…"

"—yeah." He interrupted my tapering voice as it trailed off at the realization.

"I didn't mean it." I promised.

"Did you?" He asked me seriously. "Have you become… _dependent_ on me? I mean… if I were gone, if my mortality ceased to exist and I was gone from you forever… I mean.. would you… you wouldn't… you _can't_ …" He didn't quite know how to say it, but we both knew what he meant.

"I wouldn't. Damien, I swear. I was just delirious, I probably thought it was a riddle—"

"You would tell me, right?" He murmured at my blankets, "if you felt that way. If you thought that was your only choice. Even now, with the hypothetical scenarios out of the way… you'd tell me?" He was asking like he wasn't sure.

"Of course! To be honest I have never actually felt that way in my _life_ , I _swear!_ I never meant what I said, I don't even know why I said it, I think I was just thinking of logical ways to get to you… if you were, you know, gone. I mean, I've always heard—"

"That's not logical though, that's not how it works."

"What?"

"People who commit suicide do not go to Hell. Not unless they're also horrible people. Most everyone who dies, period, goes to heaven. Hell is actually a very lonely place" he laughed, darkly. "Jesus or God or... whoever... accepts those who take their own lives, and cradles them against His chest in heaven, where they find the comfort they were lacking on earth. The lonely feel wanted, and the empty feel whole. Everyone is forgiven, and nobody is punished. They've already punished themselves enough for three eternities in Hell…" His cynical attitude could not mask his underlying air of certainty, of _knowing_. He sounded like he knew this from personal experience. Maybe he did.

He was born in the 7th layer of Hell, he knows how things are.

I suddenly felt really guilty for my upbringing, narrow as it was. In South Park we listened to Father Maxi flap his yap every Sunday, but I'd never explored beyond what my parents or the town insisted was true. And there was a lot of shit that went down in South Park, but we were still so naive. Poor Damien, he knows way too much, and he knows it alone. _Ugh, Why did I_ say _that?!_

"I'd never, Damien, I'm sorry for even saying it — I think I was trying to make a dark joke or something—"

"You don't have to make excuses for me, I believe you, just… talk to me… if you need me. Not just me, talk to a professional, _please_ , but… I have experience knowing what should have been said…" He trailed off sadly, eyes shining. Experience…

"What are you—"

"I never talk about her. But that's what happened to her. Before it happened she blamed herself for everything. And afterwards blame shifted to him. The only difference was he was already immortal.

"I was raised by someone who I can't name or he's summoned — much like myself— but he protects expectant mothers. He did a good enough job with a half-human kid." I squeezed his hand that was still gripping mine for dear life. He squeezed back and continued.

"I don't remember her. There aren't even pictures. The best thing I have is a description I've been told that I've drawn sketches of a thousand times. 'Brown hair, brown eyes, rounded nose, full lips, and a smile that could light the sun.' I don't know anything else. And I never will. Because even though she literally birthed the son of the Devil, God must have been merciful to her — or cruel to my father — and taken her home as one of His own. From stories I've heard, she belongs there too; sweet and smart, and wickedly funny. Just got caught up in a cult craze and went to one mad meeting," He laughed shakily as tears threatened to fall.

"I sort of remember the softness of her hair… but that's it. Not even a face, not even a smell, just her hair…

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say," he ran a shaky hand through his hair, and I wish my stupid sling would allow me to lift my arm enough to do the same and help him feel like everything is alright, "is don't hide those feelings, if.. you know… you ever get them. Get help. Always get help. Sound familiar?" He smirked at me playfully, at the reference to the pep talk I tend to give him 24/7.

"I just. I can't lose you too. The way I lost her. I can't. I can't miss you both." Silent tears started to fall from his eyes, and I saw them — no matter how much he tried to hide them by tipping his head down. I squeezed his hand once again

"I'll never leave you. As long as you still want me, I'm not going anywhere." I bore my gaze deep into his eyes so he knew I spoke with honesty.

"Same with me." He assured me.

"And I'll always want you. I'm not _dependent_ on you or whatever you said before, but I will always want you."

"Ditto." He smiled at me.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, I really don't know what in my right mind I was thinking that that's the right answer… I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he admits softly, "I was just scared." He starts weeping now, burying his head near my side against the bed, careful to not actually come anywhere near me. I wish I could reach him, I need to touch him to make him feel better but I can't. Instead I gently murmur sweet nothings in the quiet space between us, using gentle words as the soft caress I can't touch.

He quickly raised his head, laughing at himself and wiping his tears.

"This is stupid! Today's about you, you're the one shattered to pieces" He laughed lightly like that was genuinely funny. Wow, thanks. "I'm sorry," he kissed my face a bajillion times before settling down next to me again.

I looked at him closely, dirty hair wild but face beaming down at me.

"I love you." I tell him. I almost can't believe I've been in so much shock that this is the first time I've said it to him since the accident.

He smiled down at me like I was the world. I must be, because he was beaming like the sun.

"I love you too."

—

As weeks went on, some bruises healed, but I still couldn't leave my hospital bed because my shoulder was too weak do the honors of assisting me with the crutches or a wheelchair that I would need to accommodate my knee. That combined with my concussion meant that it was just safer for me to stay bed ridden for now.

But I was feeling much better, and much less fragile. Whenever the nurses left for the night I scooted over in my bed and Damien would crawl in, curling up as small as he could against my good side to give me the most room on the tiny hospital bed. He usually snuck out of bed to give me space once he thought I'd fallen asleep and then snuck back in before I'd woken up. Little does he know that leaving and entering the bed wakes me up every time, but I appreciate the gesture, so I'd never tell him. The doctors let him do pretty much anything he wants because of who he is.

Luckily everyone in South Park knows about him, if only by name, so he was never questioned as a suspect for being at the scene of the crime. Police have come by a few times to gather my statements but to no avail. Bastard got away.

I don't really care that much anymore, except for the guilt that there's a possibility they could hurt someone else. But there's nothing I can really do about it.

Insurance is mostly paying for my accident anyway.

My parents came back from one of their long ass "business trips" and stayed with me for a few days, but they left soon after and Damien was there to hold me and make me feel wanted and loved again.

Friends came and went for visits too, but he was always here.

Eventually I was released. Not perfectly healed, but patched up enough. Damien practically lived with me after that, and I think his dad missed him because his cell phone rang and scared the shit out of both of us, like a phantom noise in the dead of night. We taught his dad how to use speed dial.

One night we were lying in my bed in comfortable silence, my good leg woven between Damien's knees, my head on his chest and my arms wrapped around his waist; he had his right arm stretched across my body like a teddy bear and his left arm was bent at the elbow where his fingers were lightly playing with my hair. His head was angled at a tilt to be resting on top of mine, and he kept placing small kisses on the crown of my head.

I started thinking about something we hadn't talked about since the hospital, but that I thought about often.

"Damien,"

"mmhmm?"

"How do you know the things you know. You know, about the afterlife. About heaven." I corrected. "How do you know?"

I felt him sigh and bury his face into my hair.

"I don't know, I guess I just… do. I just know everything, just like everybody important in that department knows everything too." I smiled a little at that. Damien's important.

"Can I ask you something else? About what we were talking about before?" I sputter quickly before I can change my mind.

"Yeah." He waits.

"What happens to them next? Well once they've been introduced to heaven and everything. You said God holds them and takes all their pain away. Then what?"

"I believe Mary watches out for them. She likes to preside over everyone's soul, but she has a special fondness in her heart for the troubled ones."

"REALLY?!"

"Yeah."

I don't know why the news shocked me so much, it makes sense.

"Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us s—" My recitation is cut short by my stunned realization of what I was about to say. Of course!

"'Pray for us 'sinners' now and at the hour of our death'," he whispers with a smile. "My mother and Mother Mary" he chuckles sadly. My brain started buzzing with more questions I've always wondered, there's no way there's only _one_ right answer to the _entire_ universe.

"What about other religions? Are they right, in their own way, too?"

"Oh yeah, there's like, a million different versions of the afterlife. You just enter into the one you most believe you belong in. And it's not something you can choose really, you just know. Yeah a lot of it can deal with how you grow up, but if a serial killer grows up believing as a Catholic that he'll go to heaven, he always knows in his heart that he's going to see Father." He chuckled.

"Where do you think we'll go?"

He knows darn well where he'll go. He'll go where he's always been going. He'll rule the underworld for the rest of eternity, finally free of his human body. "I don't know. I know I'd selfishly want you with me, but you're a beautiful soul, and you deserve what's best." He dropped the topic then like he didn't want to talk about it. I don't blame him. I don't want to either, there's just one more thing I want to say about it.

"What if you get the opportunity to move, to follow your body's destiny instead… you'd come with me instead of the other way around… would you take it?"

"I don't know." He answered honestly.

There was a long pause.

"...Aliens?"

"Fuck, they are more real than anybody knows, except maybe the CIA" The seriousness in his demeanor had me bursting out laughing in the most unattractive guffaw I've ever produced. We fell into one of our famous duo-laughing fits and suddenly the world wasn't so heavy anymore.

We dropped the topic after that. We went back to our silent conversations where our bodies did the talking. And that was enough. We don't _need_ to know what will happen later, what matters is now.

For now let's focus on our heaven on earth.


End file.
